Car Parks and Aardvarks

Late in the morning, I headed to Abbotsford to do some shopping.

I wanted to park in the side street next to the shops I wanted to visit, the big Salvos, I love a bit of old tatt when I have a few hours to waste, but there were no car spaces, so I stopped under the tree in the street and waited for someone to go, as I was in no real hurry. (How fast do you have to waste hours?)

It is a dead end and quite a few cars came down turned around and left again, as I waited, all looking for somewhere to park.

I had to wait for about 10 minutes, maybe not quite. There was a guy waiting in his car, seemingly reading the newspaper. Eventually, his wife came along with her shopping, he'd clearly been waiting while she shopped. He gave me a bit of a look, as he folded his newspaper and pulled his seatbelt back on.

As this was going on, a woman swanned into the side street in her large, white four wheel drive, did the u-turn and was heading out again when the old guy started up and pulled out of his spot heading to the dead end to turn around. At that point, the woman in the four wheel drive pulled up and put her car into reverse intending to back into the car spot, I presumed. So, I pulled around behind her, with a toot of my horn, and block her from taking the car spot ahead of me.

The woman drove off, the old guy drove off, and I took his car spot.

Later, I was picking Sam up for lunch to go eat Hong Kong food. I headed to the car after buying nothing and pulled a note from under the windscreen wiper, You are a pig of a human being.

You are kidding me, I thought. And you know, the thing that annoyed me more than anything, was that she will be saying to her friends that she had a car park stolen from her. She’ll be dining out on her ignorance, I thought. Men are pigs. Yap, yap, yap. I could hear it all.

My mind reeled with answers, she was a girl of larger proportions, after all, but I couldn’t make pejorative remarks, despite being a pig of a human being, apparently. One would think that would give me the right, being a pig, but we are now post-politically-correct. So, I whipped the note over and wrote, Your self focus is pretty much what is wrong with the world today.

I popped that under her windscreen wiper and I headed off to pick up Sam for lunch.

... no, there were no aardvarks, I just liked the rhyme, although, the lady four wheel drive driver may have had a large pig like snout to sniff out carparks, you know, if I squinted my eyes just so.

Theidiot

Oh dear theidiot and mum are in at the same time, and I go from peace and quiet to mind bending stupidity in a matter of seconds.

Yap yap yap yap yap.

Theidiot is complaining about the tram, as she does every morning when she gets in. Every morning it is the same story.

She is complaining about the fact her coffee shop no longer supplies take away cups. "It's $2 what is their problem," rages theidiot. "The world has gone mad, I tell you."

She doesn’t quite get it, she doesn’t quite get a lot of things. And I now have to listen to it.

Theidiot pronounces ask incorrectly. (I mean, do I have to say more?)

She got moved to in front of me after the most recent renovations. Open plan offices, you have to love them. Theidiot and her off sider Mum. (I have pet names for everyone I work with)

Theidot is complaining about the earth extinction protesters. Then comes the inevitable, get jobs and stop inconveniencing the rest of us.

Yesterday, theidiot was on the phone.

"OMG scary music, it's too loud," she squeals about hold music on the phone. "With a trumpet in my ear, and you know how much I love trumpets."

"Yes," says mum.

"Just no." Theidiot’s inane laugh is almost the most annoying thing. “Just no!” (Laughing like a moron after everything you have said doesn’t make what you said any less moronic)

We had nonstop complaining about the hold music, then when whoever answered,

"Hi Linda? This is… um…” inane laugh. “I don't know who I am today." More inane laughing. She actually revels in being an idiot.

Later in the day, Theidiot scoffs at some story about a company’s/bosses going to jail if an employee dies/develops an illness/commits suicide.

"What the hell is that about," she says. ""This govt has really lost it, when the Bourke Street guy gets a slap on the wrist."

What? I think. I can't keep my mouth shut any longer. "He went to jail for life, what do you mean?"

"Yes, but why was he out on parole in the first place?"

"I don't know," I answer. "Why was he out on parole?"

"I don't know," she says.

"Well, you'd need to know why he was out on parole before you…"

"I think he assaulted his brother."

"Oh… well… do you mean he was out on bail."

"I don' know, what’s the difference," she laughs her inane laugh. "All I know is this govt has lost it.'

"Why has the govt lost it."

"If I said why I might lose my job too."

"What?" I say. "Um, bail, or parole, are not set by govt, they are set by the courts."

She didn't answer. We didn't speak again.

She yaps on against climate change, she yaps on about the court system being broken, she yaps with her terrible conservative ideas, she yaps on and on and on, shit mostly, always shit, actually. I ignore her always, nearly always, which makes me feel a bit weird letting her misinformation go unchallenged, but keeping my mouth shut is the best way for me to be at work, I have learned that working at the awful, black law firm, Apples, Waterclosets and Northcote. What is it they say about today, the stupid are emboldened and the clever are nervous. But, today, I just couldn't keep quiet.

Mum was talking about the recent hot weather. (You guessed it, she talks about her kids alot. I like mum, though, she’s nice)

"You go out at lunch time," Mum says to theidiot.

"I might not go out at lunch time today. Yesterday, something went up my nose and I got a bit of a blood nose," says theidiot. "And now I am too scared to touch my nose."

“And people still annoy you…” says mum. Oh dear god – do you like the way I use god ironically – don’t encourage it, I think.

"Oh yes, and people annoy me with their walking," says theidiot. "They just stop in front of me and look up." Inane laugh.

I put my headphones on now a days and listen to music. I don’t care, this fool makes my ears bleed otherwise.

Jeff Titan

BigAnge is talking to some of her team about the time she was drunk after a Xmas party with a partner at her old law firm and, I assume a junior lawyer at the time, Jeff Titan.

My ears prick up. Jeff Titan. How many Jeff Titans can there be?

"Jeff would be a QC by now, most likely," says Ange, almost as an after thought.

"Jeff is a magistrate," I say.

BigAnge looks over at me, her eyes widen, her eyebrows rise up. (I wasn’t actually a part of their conversation) "You know Jeff Titan?"

"Yes," I say.

"How do you know Jeff?" asks BigAnge.

I think about my dick in Jeff's arse. "Um, er." I can't lose the image from my mind quick enough. "Ah." Think quicker. "We used to…" no, I can't say that, but that’s how I knew him. I feel my face break into a smile to bide my time.

Ange tilts her head and purses her lips.

Does anyone, actually, know Jeff is gay? "Ah…" He always told me to keep my mouth shut when it came to him, me working in law firms and all. "Um." Nyr, what do I care, Jeff and I don't see each other anymore. "Jeff and I had a thing… once," I stumble. "I guess that is what you'd call it."

BigAnge tilts her head the other way. “You and Jeff?”

“Yeah, it was a long time ago. We were,” I laugh self-consciously, I can hear myself. “Friends with benefits.” There, I’d said it. Oh well, fuck Jeff, he’d pretty much dumped me as a friend, more recently, so what do I care. All is fair in… “He’s some sort of mediation expert with the courts now.”

“I didn’t know Jeff was…”

“Oh, he is, as Xmas,” I say. I’m not even sure I understand that expression, but oddly I like it. Bright and cheery. I could feel my face crease into a big smile. I picture Jeff on all fours in front of me… his hairy arse. He had a way of grunting, deep and low, kind of contained, as though being fucked was a very personal, like it was just him, there, in that moment... “I can vouch for that.”

Suddenly, I think I am getting far too eager to blab. Pull back I think.

BigAnge laughs. “Well, you learn something every day.”

Jeff is a year younger than me. And we look a bit alike, like brothers might. And we have identical dicks, I smile slightly at the thought of telling that to Ange. Oh, could you imagine? I used to fanaticise that he was my little brother, that I was screwing him, my hot little brother… when we were together. Yes, that is where fantasies go, you are surprised, but it is just a fantasy, settle down. And Jeff was sexy and handsome and he looked hot in his red MX5.

Ice Cream

Sam likes to buy ice cream and then he never seems to want to eat it.

“Let’s have some ice cream,” I say. After dinner, when I’ve cleaned the kitchen.

“Oh, no, no, no, not tonight,” says Sam.

“What?” I try not to let my voice squeak with disappointment. “But…”

Sam waggles his finger.

“It’s not just for filling the freezer,” I say.

“You always want to eat it, as soon as we get it.”

“What else is it meant for?”

“Savouring, and enjoying…”

“Yes, but first you have to take it out of the tub,” I say. "That is the very essence of ice cream eating."

Sam Laughs.


Getting ice cream shouldn't be this hard, I think.

Sam always buys chocolate, without exception. It is me who is daring with the flavours, and if I don't choose carefully, wisely, criticism ensues. But, I hardly ever buy it, I hardly ever do the shopping. Sam shops and cooks, and I clean.

I could do an ice cream dance. Arms to one side, arms to the other side, hips in opposite direction. Ff ff, ff ff, ff ff, ff ff.

I could pull my most adorable face. See how cute I am. Yeah, no, nothing.

And funnily enough, not doing anything often works the best. It is when I completely forget about the frozen dairy treat in the freeze that Sam will say, "We have ice cream." Then there is no objection, there is no tutt tutt tutting, then it is clear sailing to the freezer and the desert bowls.

Sam will always add fruit, strawberries, or blueberries, where he pulls them from I have no idea.

Do you think it is a control issue?

Sam is ice cream in charge and I shouldn’t forget it.

Gay 101

“What did you mean before?”

“What do you think I meant?”

He shrugged “I think I know…”

“What?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Say it?”

“Yeah.”


"Say it?'

"Yeah."

"Say wha..?"

"It."

"G..."

"Say it, I won't bite," he said. "That is unless you want me to."


"Gay? What do you think?”

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

That was unexpected.

"Do you mean.” He grimaced. “Sucking cock gay?"

"Well, it is a good place to start, although I always think that kissing is probably a better place to start."

"Oh, yeah, right."

I shrugged and rolled my hands in the air.

"Shouldn't you shave first?"

"Oh, I didn't actually mean me."

"Oh." I'm sure he looked disappointed. Or was that relief? It is hard to know when you are gazing into such beautiful eyes. I guess I should have been flattered.

I shrugged. "Okay then." I held my arms out. He looked scared. He closed his eyes. "I think we need to look into each other's eyes, as we do it."

"Really?" He sounded alarmed.

Gay 101. "Sure. It's easy."

"It's easy for you to say."

"Trust me."


He laughed, kind of self consciously. "Trust you?" He laughed again. “And I wake up in 12 hours in a strange house with no pants on.”

“Now you are getting the idea.”

His eyes widened noticeably. “What?”

“It’s a joke,” I said. “A little gay humour.”

“I’m not going to wake up in some strange house with no pants on, am I?” Still with big eyes.

“What?” I said. It was adorable, I had to admit it. Secretly, a small part of me wanted to keep him in that state. “What do you think, I have Poison Ivy’s poisonous lips on, or something.”

“Poison Ivy lips?”

“Yes. I mean no…”

“From the plant?”

“Batman and Robin…”

“Huh?” He looked like he was beginning to hyperventilate.

I held my hands in mid air to say stop. “I think we are getting a little off track here.”

“Yes,” he said in barely contained hysteria.

“You need to breath,” I said. “Come on. Breath in… good… breath out… that’s it.”

He breathed in and out rhythmically.


"Just kiss like you are kissing a girl."

"Don't say that."

That seemed like a strange thing to say "Why?"

"Because..."

"Because why?"

"I don't want to think about girls when... um... when... er... it is a boy I want to kiss."

I took that as a compliment.


I closed my arms around him and pulled him to me until we were only centimetres apart. "I’ve got you this far, haven’t I?" I moved my face towards him, he closed his eyes. My lips touched his, they were soft and warm and moist. Yeah... baby, I thought. He kissed back gently, tentatively, he was a natural. I pulled his body against mine and he relaxed in my arms. He tasted sweet, he felt big and solid in my arms. He smelt sweet, clean. His hair shined, his fringe was full and healthy. I rubbed the side of my face against his, he felt smooth.

“Your face is rough with stubble.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“No.” He smiled. “I… kind of like it.”

I slid my tongue into his mouth, which opened gently. His warm, smooth tongue found mine. We kissed passionately as our hands felt each other’s bodies. He wasn’t squeamish when I found the front of his briefs. I’d mesmerised him with my lips and my warm dewy saliva. My warm breath was pacifying him, as his was me. I felt his cock and balls, he didn’t flinch, he didn’t pull away instinctively. It was nice to feel too, he was getting hard, his grey briefs were filling out.

Then he pulled away and stepped back. “Um… er…” was what he said.

“What’s up?”

“I think that is enough…”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“It seemed like you were liking it.”

He instinctively moved his hands in front of his crotch. “I thought it was just kissing.”

“That is the starting point.”

“I didn’t think you were going to?”

“Going to?”

He motioned down his body.

“Really? What did you think was going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

"Where do you think kissing leads?"

"I don't know," he said. "I was concentrating on kissing you."

"That's good," I said. "You keep thinking about that... and... I'll do the rest."

He looked nervous.

"Kissing is the first step," I said. "Do you think gay guys only kiss?"

"I don't know what gay guys do?"

"That's what we are exploring..."

"I thought we were kissing."

"We are, but if you have got that far, then we are getting close to what you thought in the beginning."

“Sucking cock gay?”

“Okay, I think you’ve got the idea, let’s start at the beginning.”

David Leaves

Late in the afternoon we’re home and David is a mess. Crying. His voice comes down from upstairs, asking Sam to go and get him some serapax for his nerves. Again, so much for rehab. Sam also gets him a pork roll. David never says no to food.


“Is she is doing all of this just to get that reaction? LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME. I AM A MESS,” I say.

“I am a mess gets her more attention than anything else,” says Sam

“She’s a mess because she has no staff to do everything for her,” I say. “She is spoilt, she hates packing.”

“Well? Is it my problem?” says Sam

“No… nor mine,” I say.

“Yes, it’s your problem!!!” says Sam.

“Everyone thinks you are the nice one.”


David appears at the lounge room door, “Do you have any more toilet paper?” Really? I nearly laughed, he consumes toilet paper at the same rate as he consumes food, but I’m sure he wasn’t in the mood for me laughing.

I get the toilet paper for him.

A little while later, David is at the lounge room door. “I can’t do this.” I take him in hand. “Let me help.”

“I think I should just cancel my 7pm flight and go tomorrow.”

“What do you need to pack?” I’m not having his nonsense. He really didn’t have that much to pack. He has never liked packing, that is why he so often gets other people to do it for him.

He is nearly packed. He is crying. I get his packing finished. A couple of bags to go, some of which he simply had to put in the boot of his car out the front.

“Now call an Uber.” He bursts into tears.

He called an Uber. He is standing in the street looking pathetic.

We poured him into the black Camry and sent him to the airport.

David finally went at 5.30pm.

We ate sausages and mash for dinner.

I fell asleep on the couch for a few hours.

We went to bed at 11pm.

Bruno's Balls, David's Addictions

I take Bruno to the vet, he has scaly balls. My normal vet is booked out, so I take him to our second, emergency, vet. It is a bit further to drive, but still cheaper than the vet in Fitzroy. The vet I see is Scottish, and I truely can't understand every second word she says. I have to keep asking her to repeat what she is saying.

Bruno gets nappy rash cream, I feel weird rubbing it into his balls, but, what can you do?

David is in the kitchen when I get home from the vet inhaling food. All I can hear is the coffee machine continually whining into action. David has quadruple shots.

"That's not drinking coffee," I tell him, "that is swapping one addiction for another."

It’s like living with locusts.

He slips quietly back to his room. I haven’t really seen him, he has been sleeping for the most part, and when he is not sleeping he asking for food.

David Comes to Stay

David came to stay. He's been back from overseas for a few weeks and he's been squirrelled away, nobody has seen him, which always spells trouble. I casually mention he could come and stay here if things got too much for him, so, of course, he did.

He's been staying in a hotel, as he sold his house before he headed overseas earlier in the year, finally going to decide where he really wants to live. He's planning to rent houses in various locations and when he decides where he wants to live, he'll buy himself a house. He has always complained about the cold in Melbourne and wants to live somewhere warmer, except he is never in Melbourne for winter.

The truth is he's been overseas, for the last few years anyway, tending to his sycophants. He was away for eight months last year working, 3 months of which he has been in drug rehab in Asia. Apparently, drug rehab in Asia is very big for the high flyers, as everyone thinks they are just having a holiday from their busy schedules.

(Don’t forget, most drug addicts are fully employed earning money so they can afford that lifestyle. Don’t believe what conservative politician tell you)

David is terrified his clients will find out about him, being the health guru that he is. An internationally respected health and spirituality guru that people flock to. I've had friends tell me they are going to a famous lifestyle guru, only to have them tell me it is David, whose name they speak of in reverential tones.

"Oh god, luv, I met another one who thinks you are a guru..."

"And what did you say to them?" David always replies with a distinct tone of alarm.

You get the picture.

Well, apparently, he had his drug dealer on speed dial as the plane came into land in Melbourne two weeks ago, and he has been off chops ever since.

So, he moved into our spare room telling us he could no longer trust himself.

"So," I ventured, "The 35K in Thailand was money well spent? Darling." Drug rehab doesn't come cheap.

No, he just doesn't get it at all. Apparently, it is all a process, and he'll just have to live with it for the rest of his life.

"Don't you need a little more will power, even to get to the end of the runway before you think about messaging your Guido for a hit?"

He just looks at me blankly.

"It will always be a struggle," he manages feebly.

I have to leave work early to go to the council to get him a parking permit for his car.

Man on the Tram

cute boy, face like a pretty bulldog

Jam & Toast

Hot toast, plenty of butter and lashings strawberry jam, so the jam and the butter kind of coagulates... as yum as that sounds. No, but it is yum. Oil and water, perhaps, and the butter floats on the surface of the jam. Yum, yum. It is the best thing in the world.

Did I tell you I like putting butter, honey, and then butter on warm wholemeal toast? I call it my special honey toast. It is only for the occasional occasion. Butter so it melts into the toast, then a generous covering of honey, then butter knifed into the honey, which doesn’t completely melt. Mmmm, mmm!

The strawberry jam and butter is for morning tea. Although, in my case, it should be called morning coffee. (Coffee in the morning, tea in the evening.) Did you know how many strawberry jams you can get from the shops? I have been trying them all, and there is one that comes from New Zealand which I like the most. Fresh and bright just like New Zealand itself.